“I’ve been blessed,” he said. “Mata, the goddess, has come upon me.” Having lived in Uttar Pradesh, I immediately understood what he was alluding to. At the age of 50, the poor fellow had contracted either measles or chicken pox, also known as Chhoti Mata (Badi Mata being smallpox, which has now been eradicated). Knowing that the older one is, the more uncomfortable the symptoms are, I asked sympathetically how he was feeling. He replied that he had high fever and an itchy rash all over his torso. I asked him to go to the doctor immediately. The gardener was convinced that this was a visitation from a goddess, not a disease. “But Madamji,” he said. “This is not a matter for the doctor. I have consulted a knowledgeable priest about how to appease the goddess.”
What would the priest do for him, I countered. “You will need medicine to keep your fever under control,” I said. “And perhaps some calamine lotion to soothe the rash.” He said the priest had advised him to stay indoors, out of the sun and perform some special puja for 15 days. “He has also given me special incense to light inside the house,” he said. The priest had also advised him to stick to cold food, preferably cooked the day before, and to drink a lot of fluids.
Seeing that I wasn’t getting through to him at all, I decided to leave the gardener to his beliefs. After all, from the medical point of view, the priest’s advice was spot on. And unless there were any complications, the viral disease would sort itself out — whether the intervention was medical or spiritual. A couple of days later, I called to find out how he was doing. He was celebrating each uncomfortable symptom with pious zeal.
“I was feeling unbearably itchy, so the priest told me that Mata likes to be kept cool,” he said. “So I’ve been bathing with water in which neem leaves had been steeped to make her happy.” He also smeared soft powdered ash from the incense on his scabs to help them dry out faster. “Invariably, the strict routine of puja and meditation is leaving me with little time to dwell on my bodily discomfort,” he said. “The priest has explained that it is a small price to pay when the goddess chooses to visit you.”
A fortnight later, the gardener was back on duty, looking rather saint-like with a shaven head and gaunt cheekbones. “I feel privileged to have had these two weeks of prayer and repose with the Mata,” he said, lovingly bowing to my tulsi plant as he always did. Then he pointed to some scars and said: “She has left these blessings as reminders of her visit.” After he left, I continued tending my plants, wondering at the power of his belief that enabled him to perceive an avoidable, uncomfortable disease as a benevolent, peaceful visitation from the goddess.
